


Unexplained

by merulanoir



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Low Chaos (Dishonored), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 14:50:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20816966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merulanoir/pseuds/merulanoir
Summary: “The— I mean, someone told me you know the Wrenhaven. All of it.” Corvo’s voice is measured, and there is something hidden in his eyes. Samuel shrugs.“Been here for a long while. Boating up and down the river.” It’s the truth, or what’s left of it anyway. Samuel feels some of the anxiety over the mark slip away, because Corvo looks like he wants to bridge that gap. For what reason, Sam can’t imagine.Corvo manages a small smile. “I’ll meet you later.”“Good luck, Corvo.” Samuel smiles back at him, because fuck it; Corvo is on his way to kill a man. He deserves some kindness.





	Unexplained

**Author's Note:**

> I just finished playing the first game and, well. There was one person who was there for Corvo from the beginning to the end, and the world needs to acknowledge that.
> 
> That being said, my brain just sort of short-circuited and this fic fell out. Enjoy.

The sewer spits him out, and then he sees the open sky for the first time in six months. It’s grey, and a fine rain floats down in listless Dunwall fashion, but even with the gutter stench and the rags clinging to his body, it’s the most beautiful thing Corvo Attano has seen in a long while.

He blinks against the light, and then there is movement by the water’s edge. Someone rises to their feet, and Corvo shrinks back, the blade and the crossbow held more like a shield than weapons.

“I’m a friend,” a rough voice calls over. Corvo forces the adrenaline haze back enough to see the speaker is a man with greying hair. He’s dressed like a sailor, and he’s _ smiling_.

The stranger steps closer and runs a hand down his face. The smile doesn’t disappear; it’s a small, tired thing, but it’s the first friendly expression Corvo has seen in half a year. It throws him off-balance.

“I’m Samuel.” 

Corvo sees the small boat anchored to the riverbank, and he guesses Samuel truly must be the person the unknown friend sent for him. He sheathes the blade and slings the crossbow over his shoulder. Every movement hurts, like his joints are grinding bone on bone. One finger is broken, but it’s his left hand. He can manage.

“I work for some good people who want very much to meet you.”

“Me?” His voice comes out hollow, and Samuel’s face twists with sympathy.

“Yeah. I’m just your transport. I work for them.” The boatman looks at him, looks at him like he is worried, and every second of being subjected to that scrutiny makes Corvo more aware of how he must look like a dead man walking. He’s lost weight while in Coldridge, and the prison clothes are dirty. His hair is a matted, filthy mess.

_ The Lord Protector, _ Corvo thinks spitefully. _ Not much left of him. Are you disappointed, Samuel? Did you expect a hero? _

Samuel steps closer, and in one movement he shrugs his coat off. Corvo has just enough time to go stiff and halt the hand that reaches for the blade, and then the coat lands on his shoulders. Samuel tugs at it a little and then gives him yet another smile, like he has enough of those to spare some for Corvo. 

“They said you’d come out of there, but I can still hardly believe it,” he says quietly, and Corvo can’t understand what’s happening. Samuel holds on to the coat until Corvo unthaws his mind and grips it. The boatman looks at him closely.

“You look like you’re freezing. Let’s get going, Corvo.”

Samuel walks him to the boat, and then steadies him by the elbow as Corvo settles down onto the bench. Samuel’s feet are sure and steady as he hops on board and pushes the boat off the bank. The motor comes alive with a cheerful gurgle, and Corvo breathes in deep. He smells cheap diesel, the river rot, and the rain. Those come second, because he can smell the worn leather of Samuel’s coat. The leather is oiled and gone soft with age, and there’s an unmistakable tang of tobacco embedded into the lining.

He realizes he has tucked his nose into the collar, and hastily looks up, but Samuel is engrossed with steering the boat around underwater rocks and towards the open water of Wrenhaven. Once they clear the reeds and the rocks, the man looks at Corvo and offers him a half-hearted grin. 

“We’re off to the Hound Pits pub. The Loyalists, that’s us, we’re camped out right under the nose of our Lord Regent.” There is a hint of pride in Samuel’s voice, and Corvo wonders how an old sailor like him came to be a part of what is starting to look like a conspiracy. Corvo knows he can’t afford to trust anyone, but he is also out of options. By now, the whole Dunwall must be on high alert.

“Of course, should the City Watch decide to investigate, they could drive us out like rats,” Samuel goes on after a short silence. He alternates between looking where they’re going and glancing at Corvo, but he’s not scared. Samuel behaves like he and Corvo are having a dialogue, even when Corvo’s participation has been practically nonexistent thus far. Corvo is used to people looking at him like he’s something dangerous, even before Coldridge, and Samuel not doing that makes the hair on his arms stand up.

“I’m endangering you all, is what you’re trying to say,” Corvo rasps when Samuel goes quiet again. The boatman jumps and turns to stare at him. The boat veers slightly to the right, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“I’m a dangerous criminal if you ask the common folk,” Corvo goes on, voice quiet but dripping hate. “A Serkonian who got too close to the Empress and killed her, before abducting her daughter.”

How many times did Hiram repeat those words to him? Enough so that they stick to his mind like dirt he can’t wash off.

“Isn’t Lady Emily your daughter?” Samuel finally rights the course of the boat, but then he’s right back to staring at Corvo. “I never believed you killed the Empress. I imagine you’d do just about anything to get that little girl back safe.” His voice is rough but soothing, and Corvo’s shoulders drop. The acid pulls back, because he has nothing to say. No one believed him before.

They sail on in silence, and Corvo watches Samuel. He catalogues the clothes worn soft with age, the hair that looks like Samuel cut it by himself without a mirror, and the slow, sure movements with which the boat controls are handled. Samuel carries a pistol, but he never even twitched towards it. It’s baffling, because Corvo knows what he looks like; a whip-thin killer who crawled out of the asshole of a prison.

Corvo tries to understand the man, but only when they start to draw closer to the shore again does it occur to him that maybe he’s approaching this from the wrong angle; maybe Samuel is just what he looks like, an aging sailor in comfortable clothes, and with a smile that he doesn’t feel a need to guard like a good luck charm.

It would be stupid to trust that, Corvo thinks as he shakes his head to clear away the fog. The boat thuds against a crumbling pier, and Samuel kills the motor with a satisfied smile.

“Here we are. The Loyalists are waiting for you at the pub. I’ll be here, if you need me.” Again, Samuel steadies Corvo as they step off the boat, and his bare fingers grip Corvo’s wrist. His skin is warm, and once he lets go Corvo remembers he still has Samuel’s coat draped over his shoulders. He takes it off and offers it back.

“You coulda kept it,” Samuel says with a faint laugh. “Well, it’ll be warm inside. The people are very excited to meet you.”

Corvo knows why he is here. He can’t trust anyone, but he can guess why someone would expend resources to bust him out of the death cell at the last possible moment.

“I didn’t kill anyone,” he whispers just as Samuel turns to leave. The older man stops and looks at him with wide eyes and cocks his head. 

“I told you,” Samuel says. The coat hangs from his fingers. “I don’t believe you killed the Empress.”

“No,” Corvo protests. Words are reluctant to come now, after biting them back for six months, but he wants someone, anyone to know that he is not a killer; the people inside the Hound Pits pub will ask him to kill. They will order him to kill, Corvo knows that, and he wants to make Samuel see that’s not who he is.

“I didn’t kill any of the guards when I broke out,” Corvo gets out. He forces himself to exhale and then breathe in again. He is so tired. His skin feels too large and his feet too clumsy, the weight of whole Pandyssia is crushing him, and right then warm fingers close around his wrist again.

Samuel looks at him and he is smiling; he touches Corvo without expecting him to lash out, without intending to hurt. He touches Corvo simply because they’re both human, and Corvo had something he needed to tell.

“I don’t think anyone would’ve judged you if you did,” Samuel the Boatman says quietly. His thumb rubs soothing circles against the dirty skin on Corvo’s wrist, right where his bones hide, ready to snap through.

“But I could do it without killing,” Corvo insists a bit helplessly. He doesn’t know why he is trying to explain himself to Samuel, but the older man releases him before he can decipher his muddled thoughts.

“I have a feeling you’re a good man, Corvo,” Samuel says as he shrugs his coat back on. He pats through the pockets and produces a pack of cigarettes. “Want a smoke before going inside?”

Corvo takes a cigarette, even though he doesn’t smoke, and Samuel strikes a match. The smoke is acrid and tastes the way burning whales smell, but it’s his first cigarette as a free man. Corvo knows he isn’t really free, not when there are faceless people who expect things of him, waiting just a hundred steps away, but still. He got out of Coldridge, and he did it without bloodying his hands. 

Samuel watches the water as he smokes, but when Corvo throws the butt of the cigarette away he smiles again. 

“Go get ‘em,” he says. He turns back to his boat, and when Corvo glances behind him, he notices the boat’s name is Amaranthine.

***

The man who emerges from the pub the next day looks almost nothing like the prisoner Samuel brought to the Hound Pits yesterday. When Samuel first laid eyes on Corvo Attano, his first thoughts went along the lines of _ they can’t expect this man to do their dirty work for them, he’s half-dead. _

There was pity and concern, and once Samuel saw Corvo was not going to stab him with the folding blade, curiosity, too. The whole of Dunwall was ripe with gossip about Corvo Attano, the former Lord Protector, and Samuel has clever ears. From what he had been able to discern, Corvo was most likely Lady Emily’s real father, and up until the moment of the assassination, had been utterly devoted to protecting the Empress. The idea of Corvo killing Empress Jessamine Kaldwin never sat right with Samuel, and after he coaxed words out of the man yesterday, his opinion solidified.

Samuel is smoking on the yard, near the steps leading to the pier, when Corvo steps out, and for a short moment Samuel doesn’t recognize the man. He’s had a chance to bathe and shave, and _ now _ he looks like the former Lord Protector again. His skin is much darker than the Gristol pallor, but what convinces Samuel this is indeed the same man he plucked from the Coldridge sewer mouth last night is the wary gaze that sweeps over the yard. 

It lands on Samuel, and he raises a hand in greeting. He may be smiling again, just because that’s what people do, but Corvo halts. He was clearly headed to see Piero, but he stops a few feet away from Samuel and stares. 

“Mornin’,” Samuel says. He flicks ash from his cigarette. “From what I hear, we’re off pretty soon.”

“Yes.” Corvo’s voice is softer now. He blinks and shakes his head, and then he smiles, too. It’s careful and looks like his mouth muscles have almost forgotten how to, but it’s definitely a smile. Samuel’s chest grows tight, because he knows what makes a human forget how to smile, and Corvo’s path isn’t going to get any easier.

Samuel has—well. He doesn’t want to call it eavesdropping, but the truth is Admiral Havelock and Lord Pendelton have a way of overlooking little people. Samuel knows a lot more about the upcoming plans than he lets on, just like he suspects Cecelia does. The girl is even more invisible than he is.

“I wanted to say thank you,” Corvo says. He glances around himself, like wanting to make sure no one is listening, and then looks at Samuel with that same smile. “For yesterday.”

“What?” Samuel asks. His cigarette burns his fingers and he drops it. The stuff he can afford rarely has any filters to speak of. “I was just picking you up.”

Corvo looks down, and his face turns embarrassed. Despite the menacing dark coat and his black-brown hair, he looks painfully thin and almost fragile. Samuel feels a hollow spot in his chest when he thinks of today evening, and what Havelock expects Corvo to do.

“You were— Nevermind.” Corvo looks up and shrugs. “I have to go see Piero, but then we need to go.”

“Just say the word.” 

Samuel watches Corvo walk towards the workshop, and he doesn’t know why there is a vague worry in his gut. He doesn’t want to, but he is beginning to care for Corvo. Samuel joined the Loyalists to do something about the increasingly desperate situation of his home city, but he figured he’d just play a small part on the fringes; getting mixed up with the assassin spells trouble.

Corvo comes back a while later, and Samuel sees he is holding an ugly-looking mask. Yesterday, Samuel noticed his left ring finger was broken, but now it appears unharmed. He frowns, and then he sees the mark.

Corvo is engrossed with the mask, fiddling with the lenses, and Samuel gets a few seconds to stare at what looks like a tattoo. What Samuel knows, without a shadow of doubt, is that it wasn’t there yesterday.

_ Did Havelock and Pendelton know? _ Samuel thinks. His thoughts float far away, and he forces himself to avert his gaze. _ Did those two know Corvo has been touched by the Outsider? _

Samuel’s guess would be no. Havelock is more superstitious than he lets on, and Pendelton is a coward. If they find out, they might even discard Corvo, because organizing a coup is one thing, and meddling with the supernatural quite another.

Corvo is just about to step on to the deck of Amaranthine, when Samuel grips his wrist. He does it gently, but the man flinches like he expects to be hit. He forces himself still, and Samuel’s gut turns. How do Havelock and Pendelton expect this man to assassinate the High Overseer?

“That mark,” Samuel murmurs. “You’d do well to hide it.”

Corvo’s eyes grow huge, and he tries to snatch his hand away. Samuel doesn’t let go.

“Did you call for him?” Samuel asks. He stares Corvo down, and the man slumps. He can’t be much older than thirty five, but he looks simultaneously older and younger when he meets Samuel’s eyes again.

“No. He came to me in a dream.”

Samuel gapes. He knows some people worship the Outsider. What he didn’t know was someone attracting his attention on their own.

“I won’t use this to—to make things worse,” Corvo hisses. He regains some of his balance, and Samuel finally lets him go. 

“I have to find where they’re keeping Emily, so if this can help me, then by the Void I will use it.” Now Corvo sounds almost angry, and Samuel raises his hands placatingly.

“Fine. It’s not my business.” 

Amaranthine coughs herself to life, and they set sail in uncomfortable silence. Samuel forces himself to not look back at Corvo, but his mind is a jumble of chaotic worry and fear. The Outsider has always been a figure people whisper about, but to see his mark on a living human being feels like a bad omen if there ever was one.

Samuel hopes that Corvo won’t think to ask how Samuel was able to recognize the mark so quick. Sailors have their old ways, dating back to times when the deep ones were still real if stories are to be believed; they are somewhat exempt from the purge of all things occult, because there isn’t a sailor who does not grip a bone charm in their fist when a storm gets bad. Higher ups look the other way, for the most part.

Samuel feels the one he has weigh heavy in his pocket. It’s been with him for years, and maybe it’s just his own thinking, but the river is usually a touch kinder to him. He risks a glance at Corvo, and yes, there it is; a small charm hidden in the folds of his coat. Samuel knows Cecelia has a few charms too, the girl collects the oddest things.

As they pull closer to their destination, Samuel starts to chatter again. He can’t stomach the stifling quiet, and Corvo relaxes as Samuel talks about the Bottle Street gang and the Holger Square. His eyes stay wary, but Samuel suspects that’s just how he is. Coldridge did its work on Corvo.

They pull up to the muddy bank. Amaranthine has a shallow bottom, so it’s possible to sail right where the ground can hold your weight, but the turnside is that she’s shaky. Corvo attempts to step off, and the boat tilts. Samuel reacts before he thinks, and his arm wraps around Corvo’s waist. His feet plant themselves on the deck, and after a few seconds it settles again. 

Corvo smells of cheap soap and the river, Samuel notes. He is much thinner than the clothes let on.

“Easy, now,” Samuel murmurs. He loosens his grip but doesn’t let go, and then he notices how the tension starts to slip away from Corvo. It’s odd, because the man has been like a bowstring up until now. The assassin climbs off the boat and brushes his hair out from his face, ready to don the mask. Their eyes meet, and Corvo looks questioning.

“Listen,” he begins, and then halts, as if considering something. Samuel waits.

“The— I mean, someone told me you know the Wrenhaven. All of it.” Corvo’s voice is measured, and there is something hidden in his eyes. Samuel shrugs.

“Been here for a long while. Boating up and down the river.” It’s the truth, or what’s left of it anyway. Samuel feels some of the anxiety over the mark slip away, because Corvo looks like he wants to bridge that gap. For what reason, Sam can’t imagine.

Corvo manages a small smile. “I’ll meet you later.”

“Good luck, Corvo.” Samuel smiles back at him, because fuck it; Corvo is on his way to kill a man. He deserves some kindness. If he is touched by the Outsider, so be it. Weirder things have happened.

***

The rune beats in his pocket, much like the Heart when he forces it to talk. Corvo crouches down in the shadows, hidden away from the guards and the wolfhounds, and tries to will his own heart to stop beating like a drum. The rune feels heavy and warm, and it’s almost as if the bone charm he wears over his chest recognizes it.

The Mark doesn’t hurt. Corvo turns his left hand over and watches it as he waits for the guards to move away. There is a faint glimmer every now and then, and it tingles when he uses it to see through walls and blink across distances, but it no longer burns. The Outsider branded him in the dream, and it hurt. The pain was gone when Corvo woke up, but the Mark wasn’t.

He doesn’t know what to think of it all. The Outsider was a figure of myths in Serkonos, and only once he moved to Dunwall did Corvo encounter the fear people hold for him. He wanted to dismiss the rumors, but there were too many coincidences for his liking.

He wasn’t afraid in the dream. He watched Jessamine’s body, and for some reason the letter screaming YOU CAN’T SAVE HER was like a final nail in a coffin; he knew he’d tried his best. It just had not been enough.

The Outsider felt simultaneously curious and condescending. Corvo still doesn’t know what to think of the creature, not even after seeing him again at the altar. Granny Rags recognized the Mark he carries, but for some reason most of the people either don’t notice it, or don’t care. 

A funny though crops up, what if most of the people can’t even see the mark? Corvo shakes his head as he forces himself to move again. Why would Samuel see it, then? There is nothing magical about the boatman.

He slides down the chain, and then he hears the familiar voice.

“Hey Corvo, it’s Samuel, I’m here.”

His feet hit the ground with a dull thud, and Corvo peels the mask off. It doesn’t chafe like he expected it would, but he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror when he was on his way to the interrogation room; he looked like a wraith.

“You okay? Injured?” Samuel walks closer, and it’s so odd that the man doesn’t fear him. There is no blood on Corvo, but he is a killer; the boatman just looks at him with a frown.

“You’re alive, so I take it the mission was a success.” Samuel’s voice sounds almost unhappy, but a smile tugs at Corvo’s lips.

“Campbell’s not dead.”

Samuel frowns. “Then… What happened?”

Corvo explains, tries to make it quick, but something warm unfurls inside his chest as Samuel’s eyes crinkle with a smile. He finishes the explanation by telling about his escape, and Samuel reaches for him and grips his shoulder.

“You did good,” he laughs. “Maybe it’s not my place to say, but men of faith shouldn’t live like barons.”

Corvo just smiles and shakes his head. “Shall we?” Samuel’s hand is big and warm, thumb just brushing the skin of his neck, and the sailor nods towards the boat.

“After you, sir.”

“Just ‘Corvo’ is enough,” Corvo mutters as he scrambles onboard. He’s no longer Lord Protector, and for some reason he wants Samuel to see him as an equal rather one of the upper crust. Being counted among the numbers of Admiral Havelock or Lord Pendelton makes him feel...uneasy.

“Alright,” Samuel laughs. He kicks the boat away from the strand, never stumbling, and then coaxes the engine to life. Corvo watches him in silence.

The Heart unsettles him. He spent the early morning hours looking for runes with its help, but that’s not the scary bit. No, the Heart also sees into people’s secrets. Other people can’t see it, an ugly thing that it is, but the voice inside Corvo’s head in painfully familiar.

The Heart whispered to him about Pendelton and Havelock, about Piero, Wallace, Callista, everyone he tried. What he heard made him cautious.

_ Samuel is a simple man, but he knows the River Wrenhaven and all its tributaries, down to the smallest inlet. _

For some reason, pointing the Heart at Samuel feels like spying. It’s different, somehow, than using it to reveal things about Havelock, for example. Corvo watches Samuel steer the boat towards the open river, and he thinks.

Samuel has an aura that makes him feel at ease. It was there yesterday, in the small ways the man treated him like a human being, but today it feels more pronounced. Samuel saw the Mark of the Outsider and was concerned, yet he still helped Corvo when he stumbled; Samuel is not afraid to touch him, like Cecelia is, or Piero.

Corvo can’t afford the trust, but he wants it. He wants one person who is there for him, even if only as a friendly soul who won’t betray him in the end.

_ Samuel Beechworth has lied about one thing. To everyone but you. _

The Heart sounds almost smug as it whispers to him, and Corvo frowns as he wills it away again. Samuel turns his head and catches him staring. The man smiles, easy and comfortable, and Corvo feels that warm something spread.

They’re mostly quiet as they sail through the pre-dawn murk, but right as the sun peeks over the misty skyline, Corvo sees the pub again. He rolls his shoulders and feels good about what happened. The High Overseer won’t trouble them anymore, and he only hopes Havelock and Pendelton will agree with his methods. He did free Martin, so they shouldn’t have anything to complain.

A gunshot makes him jump. He whirls around so hard the boat rocks, and Samuel’s hand shoots out.

“Easy, Corvo! It’s just Havelock. He does target practice in the yard sometimes.”

Corvo blinks frantically, and Samuel releases the grip on his bicep. Instead of letting go, his hand slides up and down his arm.

Corvo feels his pulse calm, and without thinking he leans into the touch. It’s the first friendly contact since who knows when, and Samuel isn’t afraid of him. For some reason, Samuel treats him almost like a friend.

He realizes what he is doing, and looks away. Samuel refocuses on the boat, and as they thump against the pier he stands up.

“Come on.”

Corvo looks up, and Samuel is offering him a hand. His grey eyes are clear and gentle, and it feels like he knows why Corvo accepts the help; it feels like Samuel guesses how empty Corvo is inside, just hollow echoes of good times, long lost by now.

“Admiral Havelock and Lord Pendleton are at the courtyard. I expect they’ll want to congratulate you.”

Corvo snorts before he can prevent himself, and Samuel’s eyes twinkle. The man drops his hand once there is solid ground under their feet again, and then Corvo is distracted by footsteps as Callista Curnow runs to him.

***

The afternoon is uncommonly warm, and Samuel strips down to his short sleeves as he tinkers with Amaranthine’s engine. He slept late and woke up to some raised voices. His hovel gives him the sounds of the river as he sleeps, but it also affords a chance to spy on people who, once again, forget he exists. 

Admiral Havelock was not pleased with how Corvo handled Campbell. He fumed about it to the newly recovered Overseer, Teague Martin, as they walked past him. Samuel watched them, unseen but with keen ears. It appears that the Admiral wanted blood on Corvo’s hands.

The knowledge weighs on him as the day progresses. Samuel remembers how Corvo struggled to explain his escape from Coldridge, and his chest feels tight; if Havelock is dead-set on making Corvo kill, even the Outsider’s powers might not be enough to protect him.

A splash makes Samuel look up sharply, and then his eyes grow wide. There is a sewer outlet to his right, and none other than Corvo is just climbing through it. He is covered in filth, and their eyes meet.

Samuel wades in without a second thought. He feels the cold of the river tug at his feet, his trousers will take forever to dry, but what if Corvo is hurt? What was he doing in the sewers? Cecelia mentioned weepers earlier in the morning—

“Samuel, I’m fine,” Corvo blurts out as Samuel splashes over to him. He stands up straight and flexes the hand where Samuel can see the mark glimmer before fading again.

“What in the Void were you doing in the sewers?” Samuel asks. He hears how worried his voice is. “There are weepers down there.”

“Took care of them,” Corvo says. He hesitates, and then shows Samuel the crossbow. It’s loaded with darts that contain a shimmering green liquid. “I need to tell Piero the weepers have been stunned. He mentioned he’d need samples from living plague victims.”

Samuel stares. Corvo fidgets under his gaze.

“I didn’t want to kill them,” he finally says. He sounds almost ashamed. “I know they can’t be cured, but…” His voice trails off.

Samuel swallows. His chest hurts, the vague pain that heralds heartache, but he ignores it.

“You look almost as bad as when I picked you up the first time,” he says instead of showing how shaken he is by this man. Corvo snorts a laugh, a surprisingly light noise, and Samuel can’t help a small smile.

“Look who’s talking.”

Samuel looks at himself and shrugs, sheepish. “Had to make sure— Well, Havelock would be pretty pissed off if you got yourself killed.” He fumbles on the words, but Corvo’s smile turns just a touch softer.

It’s like he understands what made Samuel jump hips-deep into the river without a second thought, and isn’t that a terrifying thought.

_ You’re slipping, Beechworth, _ Samuel thinks to himself as they climb out of the mud and filth and make some futile efforts to clean themselves so that Cecelia won’t have too much extra work cleaning the baths. _ You can’t go down that road again. You don’t have enough years left to forget again. _

Corvo keeps looking at him. He keeps smiling, and Samuel can’t help but return that.

***

Corvo’s foot slips, and he almost stumbles down the wet, slippery stairs. It’s dark as pitch, and the rain is falling in earnest. He tries to will his hands to stop shaking, but he misses the railing and grabs at nothing, and right when the world tilts worryingly someone catches him.

“Whoa! Hey, now. It’s me. Sam. Easy now.”

Samuel doesn’t let him go until they’re under the bridge. When the rain stops beating him down, Corvo can smell the blood again. His stomach turns, and he has just enough time to rip off the mask before he vomits. 

It’s violent, the way his stomach voids itself. His chest heaves, and only distantly does he know he has fallen to his hands and knees as he retches. He catches a glimpse of his hands, and the sight of blood mixing with the river mud makes his head swim.

Gentle hands push his hair out of his face and hold it out of the way. There is an arm around his shoulders, and Samuel is kneeling close to him, murmuring nonsense as Corvo tries to puke his still beating heart out by the looks of it.

Finally nothing but bile comes up, and Corvo draws in a shuddering breath. He can’t wipe his mouth, not with hands covered in blood, but Samuel is quicker. The cloth he uses isn’t exactly clean, but it’s miles better than any of the available alternatives.

“Come on, let’s get you up.” Samuel is surprisingly strong. He doesn’t struggle to support Corvo’s weight as they walk away from the bank. There is a small fire going, and Samuel sits him down on a stump of wood. He crouches down in front of him.

“Are you injured?”

Corvo shakes his head automatically, but then he winces. Samuel sees it.

“Show me. Please.”

Corvo shakes his head again, but Samuel stop the movement. He forces Corvo to meet his eye, one hand barely brushing against his temple.

“Corvo. Show me.”

His name rattles him out of the stupor. Corvo peels back his coat sleeve, and Samuel sighs. There is a burn, second degree going by the blisters. It’s not big, but it hurts down to the bone. One guard knocked over a lantern, and the burning whale oil splashed over his arm.

Samuel leaves, and then returns with a small kit. Corvo watches as he cleans and dresses the wound, his mind far away. He knows that Samuel must see the blood on his hands.

He tried. It just wasn’t enough.

“What happened?” Corvo expects Samuel to be disappointed, but instead there’s worry. To his horror, he feels his throat close up. Corvo spends a moment breathing in deep, until the spinning stops.

“I didn’t— I killed the guy. There was no other way.”

It comes out exactly like a confession, and Corvo’s head dips as he buries his face in his hands. “I tried to figure out how to do it, the guy was running a prostitute ring so there _had_ to be a way. He was supposed to be out tonight, that’s why I suggested today to Havelock, but he came back and—”

Samuel takes a gentle but firm hold of his skull and forces them to lock eyes. His face is pale in the flamelight.

“You tried your best,” he says, and Corvo grimaces as he pulls away.

“It wasn’t enough,” he spits out. His voice sounds rough. “It’s never enough.”

He doesn’t get time to react. Samuel pulls him into a hug, and refuses to let go when Corvo struggles. He gives up, and then he can’t prevent himself from burying his face into Samuel’s neck as his chest heaves. He’s not exactly crying, but he’s so disappointed in himself. He’s disgusted by what he’s becoming, and he wants to run away from that feeling.

Samuel holds him tight, and finally Corvo gives up and wraps his arms around him. He is shaking, and suddenly there is a hand stroking his hair. A hurt sound wells up in his throat, he doesn’t deserve comfort, but Samuel makes a low, soothing noise.

“You did good, Corvo. You came back safe. That’s what matters.” His voice is off, like he isn’t saying everything he wants, and Corvo hates himself for it, but he grips Samuel tighter. The sailor is more solid than his bulky clothes make him look, and he holds Corvo easily; it’s like Samuel doesn’t care that Corvo killed his mark tonight.

“You did what you had to,” Samuel whispers against his ear. Corvo shivers. “You wouldn’t be able to save Emily if you had died out there tonight. You did good.”

Maybe he is a failed human being, but for some reason he believes what Samuel says. Gradually the shaking dies down, and Corvo slumps against the older man. He’s so fucking tired. He had a bad feeling about tonight ever since Havelock informed him that deciphering Campbell’s black book would take more time than initially thought, and maybe Corvo could go and handle a smaller case in the meantime?

Samuel pulls back, just enough to look at him. His hair is wet from the rain and he smells of diesel and the river, but Corvo feels safe. He doesn’t know if he can trust Samuel, but by the Void does he want to. He watches Samuel’s face for any sign of judgement, but there’s just so much concern.

“Hey,” Samuel’s hand cups his jaw. “You there?”

Corvo leans into the touch before he can help himself, and then he goes stiff.

He’s not supposed to. It’s not done, not in Dunwall, not in Gristol; he’s not supposed to want this. It’s difficult to excise half of what makes you whole, he found when he first came to Gristol, but he was on a diplomatic mission, and he couldn’t afford to fail. Corvo pushed away the bits that wouldn't be accepted, and threw himself to his work in protecting the Empress. Parts of him have been dormant for years, and it’s beyond inconvenient for those to resurface now.

Samuel stops him from pulling away. His thumb brushes Corvo’s cheekbone, and his eyes turn sad. 

“It’s alright,” he murmurs. The words are heavy, and Corvo closes his eyes. 

_ Why? Why does this happen? Why does he make me feel so safe? _

There are no answers, and there isn’t enough coin in the whole world to ask the Heart. Corvo fears what he might hear if he pointed the thing to himself right now. Instead of dealing with any of it, he fights to push it back. When he feels like he won’t crumble on the spot, he opens his eyes again and exhales.

Samuel gives him a small smile. It’s more honest than before. He finally pulls back, and then he looks away and starts to look guilty.

“We should go back,” he finally says as he climbs to his feet. “Get that wound looked at.”

Corvo nods mutely, and when Samuel hesitantly offers a hand to help him on board Amaranthine, he accepts it. He sits down, but doesn’t let go immediately, and Samuel’s face turns anxious.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out. 

Corvo doesn’t say anything, but he runs his thumb over Samuel’s knuckles once before letting go. 

Touching with some other intention than to hurt. It’s been too long, and as they set sail Corvo turns the mask in his hands. Maybe he’s tainted by the mark of the Outsider after all. Maybe his hands are only fit for killing now.

***

Granny Rags diving out of the darkness startles Samuel, and then he gets another jump when he sees Lady Emily trailing after the old woman. Samuel scrambles to his feet and is just about to swipe the most ungraceful bow, when Emily smiles at him.

“You’re Samuel, right? Corvo told me you’d be waiting for me.”

Her voice is steady, and she looks at Granny Rags with raised eyebrows.

“Thanks for your help. I’ll be fine now.”

“Little birdies will watch over you,” Granny Rags murmurs. She brushes Emily’s hair, and then she’s gone, melting into the shadows a bit too fast for Samuel’s liking.

Emily peers at him. “You don’t look like a soldier.”

Samuel clears his throat. “Ah. No. I used to be one, in the Navy. Your ladyship. But not for a long while now.”

He doesn’t mention why he isn’t a soldier anymore, and Emily doesn’t ask. She sits down next to the fire, and warms her hands. Her clothes are clean and her hair is combed, so it looks like she hasn’t been kept locked in a cell somewhere. But she’s still a child, entirely too young for all this.

“Where’d Corvo go?” Samuel asks as he crouches down. He adds some wood into the fire and wishes he’d thought of bringing something to eat for the girl.

“He had some business to take care of.” Emily purses her lips, thoughtful. “His mask was scary. No wonder the people are afraid.” She sounds satisfied, and Samuel chuckles. It’s easy to see this is Corvo’s daughter.

“How’re you doing? Not hurt or anything?” he asks.

“I’m fine, thank you. They didn’t treat me poorly. Mostly it was just boring, being locked up.” Emily looks around herself. “I’ve never seen this side of Dunwall before.”

Samuel grimaces. “I’m afraid it’s not going to get any prettier for a while.”

“That’s okay.” Emily smiles at him again. “I’m with friends now. Corvo trusts you.”

Samuel’s surprise must show on his face, because Emily nods with a giggle. “He talked about you, told me he had to do some stuff, but that a friend he trusts would be waiting for me.” She picks up a stick and pokes at the logs, sending up a gust of sparks. “He likes you. He doesn’t trust easily.”

Samuel looks into the flames, and his chest is hurting again.

He tried to pull back a little after accidentally showing too much of himself to Corvo. His life would be forfeit if the Loyalists thought he was making their trump card uncomfortable, and the mere thought made Samuel feel disgusted with himself. He wouldn’t force himself on anyone.

A small voice, the one he has not been able to quiet, points out that it was Corvo who leaned into the touch. Who held onto Samuel’s hand, and ran his thumb over his scarred knuckles. It’s been Corvo who still seeks him out when there is time to spare, just to talk or sit in silence.

Samuel aches, because he knows he can’t afford this attachment. Corvo might die any day, and if they by some miracle pulled through this, he’d go back to the Dunwall Tower with Lady Emily. In any conceivable scenario Samuel is left hurting, and he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t have the years or the strength to forget about another hopeless love.

He doesn’t know why his chest feels tight when Corvo smiles sat him, when he shares small details about missions he doesn’t tell anyone else, or sometimes even talks about the mark and the crazy stuff it lets him do.

Samuel doesn’t know why he has been slowly opening up to the assassin who doesn’t kill unless he has no other choices left, but he has. Their roles have turned upside down, and recently it has been Corvo coaxing stories out of Samuel. The younger man seeks him out, and Samuel doesn’t have the heart or the willpower to be cruel. He craves closeness, and while he knows the nebulous wishes are best left as they are, he isn’t strong enough to push Corvo away.

“Samuel? Is something wrong?”

Samuel jolts back to the present moment, and Emily gives him a worried look.

“You looked very sad just now.”

“Ah, forgive me.” Samuel sighs. “It’s been a long day. I’m worried about Corvo.”

Emily nods, but then she smiles. “He always comes back to me.”

Samuel agrees. They sit mostly in silence after that. Occasionally Emily asks a question about Amaranthine or what has been happening, but she is remarkably patient for a girl of ten.

Corvo comes back, and before Emily turns around he peels off the assassin’s mask. The girl lets out a delighted squeal and runs to him, and Corvo scoops him up. They hug, and Corvo murmurs to the girl. He looks tired, but clearly wants to hold Emily close. 

Samuel watches them, and his heart tugs; Corvo is smiling a soft smile as he listens to Emily explaining something. It transforms him into a human, very much present and there for the girl who needs him more than ever.

Corvo’s eyes slide to the side, and Samuel isn’t quick enough to hide his expression. He doesn’t know what was on his face just then, but he looks away all the same. It’s not his place to want anything from Corvo.

“Samuel and I were worried about you, Corvo.” Emily climbs onto Amaranthine like she was made for sailing the river, and this time Samuel doesn’t dare to reach out his hand to Corvo. The man looks at him, noticing the change, and then manages himself. Samuel is the last to hop onboard, and then he tries to focus on the engine and steering.

Tries. Emily is intent on including him in their conversation.

“Samuel told me he used to be a sailor. And a soldier. But not anymore.” Emily looks at Samuel, and despite the chill of the night Samuel feels warmth when he sees some remains of innocence in her gaze. “Why aren’t you a soldier anymore, Samuel?”

Samuel clears his throat. “I’m old, your ladyship. Had to find something else to do once I wasn’t fit for a fight any longer.”

Corvo looks at him, almost like he considers asking about it, but remains quiet. Samuel meets his eyes for a second, and his stomach swoops. There is too much to look at, so he just averts his gaze again and clears his throat.

“You must’ve worked wonders out there tonight. I can’t believe my old eyes.”

That gets him a quiet laugh, and Samuel’s eyes snap back to Corvo against his will. The man looks less haunted than ever before, and Samuel guesses Corvo and Slackjaw must have reached an understanding of some sort; Corvo found a way to take the Pendelton twins out of the game without killing them, and Samuel smiles. He can’t help it. He admires Corvo, and he cares about him, and it’s such a tangle inside his head. 

Emily is nodding off, lulled to sleep by the steady grumble of the boat motor and Corvo’s arm around her shoulders. Samuel looks back into the night as he steers the boat, but even then he feels Corvo watching him. 

***

“Off to Kaldwin’s Bridge, sir. We’ll get our sleep later.”

He has half a mind to remind Samuel that just ‘Corvo’ is enough, but he stays quiet. Corvo watches the water as Amaranthine speeds through the early morning haze. Sun colors everything red, and he knows there will be rain later.

His mind is so full. Emily is safe now. That makes Corvo breathe a tiny bit easier. He still has a hard time trusting the Loyalists, but he has to, for now. He needs to go get Sokolov.

Corvo glances at Samuel, and there’s another thing that makes him uneasy. He doesn’t know whether he should address whatever is charging the air between them. It makes his heart beat faster, but the sailor fills him with certainty; it’s such a rare feeling, and Corvo doesn’t want to give it up. Not when Samuel’s touch doesn’t make him recoil.

The Heart is in his hand before he even consciously thinks about it. Corvo hesitates for a moment, and then gives in.

_ Samuel Beechworth went to sea to forget a hopeless love. He succeeded. _

The sonorous, sad voice sends a shiver down Corvo’s spine, and right then Samuel turns to look at him. The morning sunlight illuminates him from behind, and Corvo’s breath catches. 

It’s so unlikely, he thinks, but it’s distant. At that moment he knows what is happening, and that knowledge terrifies him. He lost Jessamine half a year ago, and he is still hurting. He shouldn’t feel his heart trying to open again, least of all to a man who is older than him and currently looking at him with worry written all over him.

_ I can’t make him desperate again, _ Corvo thinks. His own heart beats faster. _ But I can’t just let this go, either. _

Samuel parks the boat as close to the bridge as he dares. They both step off, and then there is a tense silence as Corvo searches for words. Samuel has his hands in his pockets as he watches the bridge; Corvo knows they are both thinking of the same thing, right then.

Suddenly Samuel pulls his hand out and steps closer. Corvo inhales the smell of river and diesel, and it gives Samuel enough time to fix the small bone charm next to the one Corvo already carries.

“For safety,” Samuel says. His eyes are pained and his voice comes out all wrong, lacking the easy drawl. Corvo looks at the bone charm again. It’s worn and old, and he is sure it’s something Samuel has carried with him for decades.

_ He’s just as lost as I am, _ Corvo thinks as it starts to become clear. _ That’s why we’re standing here, because neither of us knows what to do next. _

There’s no time to think. Corvo steps closer, and swallows the small, startled noise Samuel makes when he cups his cheeks. He presses their lips together, light and questioning, even as his heart is pumping furiously and his mind is a mess of _ yes, yes, yes. _

Samuel gasps into the kiss, and then his arms are around Corvo, hugging him closer, and he is kissing back. Something unrestrained is bleeding through, if the way they cling on to each other is to be believed, but Corvo is too far gone to care. He presses closer to Samuel and they kiss, and kiss, and kiss.

When he finally has to pull back, Samuel stares at him. There is a dazed, half-wild look on his face, and his lips are so well-kissed. Corvo manages a smile and a laugh that comes out too broken.

_ This is dangerous, _ Corvo thinks. _ I shouldn’t put you in danger, but I can’t— _

“Easy now,” Samuel whispers as he cups Corvo’s cheeks. He is still caught halfway between terrified and happy, but to Corvo he seems almost stable. His thumbs brush the stubble, and Corvo just stands there and lets it happen. He’s a little taller than Samuel, he notices. 

Samuel watches him for a while, but it’s not indecisive. His eyes are dry but intense, their grey mirroring the color of his hair.

“What did you lie about to everybody else?” Corvo asks when it becomes too much. His hand is still resting against the back of Samuel’s neck, and he feels the muscles twitch.

“What?” Samuel asks. He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I, ah.” Corvo tries to look away, but Samuel doesn’t let him go. They are pressed so close together, and Corvo wants to lean back in.

“The Outsider gave me a—tool. It whispers to me, things about people and places.” The words come out rushed, and there is wariness in Samuel’s eyes now.

“What did it say about me?” he asks. 

Corvo grimaces. “That you know the river. That you lied about something to everybody else but me. And…” He swallows and closes his eyes. “That you went to sea to forget someone.”

The last words come out as a whisper, and Corvo knows Samuel must understand what he means: _ don’t let me become someone you have to forget. Please. _

He expects Samuel to pull back, but instead the man kisses him again. This time it’s slow, and Corvo makes a low, hurt sound at the back of his throat. He doesn’t deserve this, and despite that he is already kissing back because he wants it too much, and Samuel is clinging on to him like he matters, like he doesn’t wish to walk away before this becomes too important to lose.

Samuel pulls back, and when Corvo manages to pry open his eyes, the man gives a weary chuckle.

“I lied about my age.”

“Huh?” For a second, Corvo doesn’t even remember what they are talking about. Samuel seems to notice, for his smile grows.

“I told Havelock I was older than I really am. I can’t go back to fighting. I can barely fire a gun nowadays.”

“Why?” Corvo asks. 

Samuel sighs. He stays close, and Corvo sways into him. Samuel is warm and solid, and doesn’t look like he mind the closeness at all.

“I was in one of them big battles,” Samuel says quietly. “Lost my mind, people say. Took me a long while to get back on my feet, and that was the end of my time in the Navy. I’m no use in a fight.” He doesn’t look ashamed, but there is bone-deep tiredness in him. 

Without thinking, Corvo hugs him closer, and buries his face into Samuel’s neck. This close, he can feel Samuel’s heartbeat against his cheek, and the accelerated pace matches his own.

“I’m sorry I’m—dragging you into this,” Corvo mutters. He feels so ashamed of himself.

Samuel chuckles. His warm fingers bury themselves into the mess of Corvo’s hair. 

“Ain’t nothing I don’t want,” he whispers. “I tried to keep away from you, but… Well.”

Corvo barks a half-hysterical laugh as he finally pulls back. He looks at Samuel and manages a miserable smile.

“I’ve got to go now.”

“Good luck, Corvo,” Samuel says quietly. “Remember to take out the floodlights, so I can come get you.”

***

Samuel stays at his boat as Corvo and Martin carry the unconscious Sokolov away. Havelock trails after them, praising Corvo and his actions, and something acrid turns in Samuel’s belly. The more he sees of Admiral Havelock, the less he trusts the man. He doesn't know what to do with that.

The morning promised rain, and it starts falling by the time Samuel is ready to finally find some sleep. And still he stalls, makes his way to his shanty as slow as possible, because while his body is tired, his mind is troubled. 

No, troubled is not the word. Samuel sits down on his mattress and goes still as a sigh escapes his lungs. He is waiting, and he doesn’t know how to handle the feeling.

The kisses replay themselves inside his head, and despite wanting to treat them as something trivial Samuel notices how his mind is already working a pearl-like casing around them, to keep them with him forever. He doesn’t have the years left to forget, and forgetting Corvo would most likely prove impossible anyway.

They have known each other for such a short time. Samuel goes to remove his shoes but then forgets to follow through the action. His chest is alive with hope and longing, woken too quickly for his reluctant mind to keep up. Samuel screws his eyes shut and forces breaths in and out, but it doesn’t work. He remembers how Corvo felt pressed against him, and he aches.

He doesn’t know what makes him open his eyes and look up, but there is a flash of black light as Corvo blinks into being next to his makeshift hut. He steps closer, crouches down, and then stops. Samuel watches his mouth, halfway to uttering a word or two, and he feels the pull; inexplicable and undeniably real.

Corvo stays there, a foot or two away from him. Samuel watches him, and it occurs to him that Corvo is afraid. It’s ridiculous, Samuel is no danger to anyone, but the expression in the dark eyes in unmistakable.

“You should rest,” Samuel says quietly. A tired smile works itself free, and when Corvo sees it his shoulders finally release the tension. He utters a chuckle and rubs a hand down his face. 

“You too.”

Samuel shrugs, but he knows they’re just stating the obvious here to skirt the huge thing that hovers over them.

_ Are we to kiss again? _Samuel muses. His gaze tracks Corvo’s restless shifting, and he feels a phantom of a physical give when he makes up his mind.

“Would you come with me?” Corvo suddenly asks. It’s shy, of all things, and somehow bordering on sweet. He stands up, gives Samuel room to breathe and decide, but it’s not really needed. The moment of deciding came and went, Samuel knows that, and it wasn’t today; Samuel made up his mind when he decided that Corvo needed gentleness, when he kept reaching for him, treating him just like any other man despite the fact that Corvo is the most extraordinary person Samuel has ever met.

Somewhere along the way Corvo has made up his mind, too. Samuel wonders whether the tool the Outsider gave him had a part to play. Corvo is always hovering, wound up like a spring with his mistrust, but _something_ makes him want to trust Samuel.

Samuel stands up, and Corvo’s smile is small but so bright, meant only for him. Slowly, as if still giving Samuel room to back out, Corvo wraps an arm around his waist. His left hand raises and clenches into a fist.

Samuel sees the Mark glow, and before he knows what is happening, they are standing at the door to Corvo’s quarters, on the rickety metal stairs. He gasps, even when the moment of the surprise is gone already, and Corvo laughs. 

“Now you’re just showing off,” Samuel mutters, and Corvo shakes with more laughter. He doesn’t let Samuel go, just opens the door, guides Samuel through it, and kicks it closed behind them. 

The top floor of the pub is surprisingly warm, and Samuel looks around as they step into the open space. It’s dusty and clearly unused, but there is a bed and candles are burning, and Corvo keeps holding him close. Thin arms sneak around Samuel’s waist, and then Corvo’s lips trail along his jaw.

“I— This might be stupid,” Corvo says in a low tone, “but would you sleep here? With me?”

The first feeling is a desperate sort of wonder. Samuel swallows against the knot of his throat, because he doesn’t deserve to be trusted like this; he knows how vulnerable even the deadliest soldier is when they sleep, and now Corvo is asking him to stay.

“Yes,” Samuel answers, fingers growing tight and then releasing the grip on Corvo’s shoulders. The younger man is a hair taller than him, and when he pulls back, his eyes are exhausted and so relieved.

Samuel kisses him then. He has been holding out until now, but he wants to give what little comfort he has to spare. He wants to pour all of that to Corvo, because no one else will take care of him.

Corvo sighs and unwinds, hands pushing Samuel’s jacket off. Samuel reciprocates, carefully and senses alert should he touch something that hurts, but Corvo surrenders his weapons and the mask, lets Samuel strip him as he repays the favor, and then they fold themselves into the bed. It’s the first time in years Samuel has gone to sleep next to someone else, but his body remembers how to hold someone he—cares about.

Corvo’s skin is a patchwork of badly healed scars, and his knobs of his spine stand out too prominent as Samuel hugs him closer to his chest. Their hearts beat almost in sync, a sluggish excitement that mellows into a sleepy embrace. Corvo pushes into it, just like he did when Samuel touched him the first time, and it feels like one of those simple wonders. Samuel kisses the back of Corvo’s neck, and even as sleep tugs him under the surface he feels Corvo grip his hand.

He dreams of whales. He dreams of whalesong that ripples across the ocean, how he spent countless hours listening to it, and how few of his crewmates could hear the deepest notes in it. _ Sea hearing, _his first captain called it, the way Samuel sank into it, to the restless wails and trills that echoed against the metal hull of the ships and hummed in the bones he sometimes found ashore.

He dreams of whalesong, of floating amidst it, but never managing to touch it. He wanted to coil the lament around his wrist and wear it; a mark that he gave himself to the sea when he was denied the possibility of giving that to the man he fell in love with. He dreams of green eyes and hesitant smiles, washed bleak now by countless hours and silent vigils kept in the dead of night.

He dreams of forgetting, and finding again, and when he wakes again, it is to the red glow of the evening and to a warm body cradled against him. Samuel blinks against the evening sun as it glares at him through the smudged window, and instead closes his eyes again and buries his nose into the tangle of dark brown hair. 

He can’t believe where he is, and he half-expects himself to wake up again to the screech of seagulls on top of his hut, but then Corvo shifts as he wakes up. There is a moment of confusion that makes him grow stiff, but before Samuel can react he feels the breath escape Corvo as he wakes up enough to remember.

“Oh. Not a dream then.”

Samuel laughs, so silent it’s just a shudder on breath against the back of Corvo’s neck, and the man shivers. Samuel kisses his neck, almost shy even though his whole body is coming alive with want and caring, adoring heat. It’s too quick, it shouldn't be possible for them to want each other so much so soon, but the thoughts are lost as Corvo arches against him.

Samuel keeps kissing the same spot, sucking skin into his mouth before releasing it and trailing his tongue and teeth up and down, and Corvo squirms against him, ass pressing against Samuel’s crotch in languid rolls of bony hips. The space between them is growing hot under the covers, and Samuel sneaks a hand around his lover, searching.

Corvo is hard, and the second Samuel cups him he lets out a high, startled sound of pleasure. He bucks against the pressure, and Samuel has just enough sense left to tug his smallclothes out of the way. Corvo burns hot against him, and despite the whiplash thinness of him there is strength and heat in abundance as he grinds his ass against Samuel again.

“Yours too,” Corvo gasps as Samuel tugs at him. It comes out halfway between commanding and pleading, and Samuel laughs. Corvo’s arm tries to reach for Samuel’s underwear, pulling at the fabric even as he continues rolling his hips, and Samuel stifles a moan into Corvo’s hair. His left arm is curled under Corvo’s head, so he has to let go of the hot hard length to strip himself naked.

Oh, but it’s worth it. Samuel pushes against Corvo, all needy want and whispered endearments, even as his hand is already back at the cock, mapping out the soft-solid shape and memorizing everything. Samuel rocks his hips, drives himself between Corvo’s thighs, and can’t help but burn with it.

“Please,” Corvo whispers. He grips Samuel’s wrist, surprisingly gentle despite the rest of him growing taut and shivering. “Please, _Sam,_ gods—”

“I’ve got you,” Samuel breathes, breaths dampening the skin beneath his lips. He fucks himself deeper between the thighs as his hand starts to move, and Corvo utters a glorious half-sob half-laugh as he throws himself to just feeling it. Samuel works him as slow as he can manage, fingers curling around his cock, sliding up and down, awkward and rough. He wishes for oil, for presence of mind to flip Corvo around and suck him off, but he drifts away to the feeling of driving his erection against Corvo’s ass and to how they sound, breathless and desperate.

“Come on,” Samuel murmurs when Corvo’s hips start to jerk. “I’ve got you. Let go. Come for me.”

Corvo reaches for him, blunt fingers digging into the soft flesh of Samuel thighs, and then he comes, spilling himself with a broken moan. Samuel hugs him closer and holds him tight, whispering words they both need to hear but can’t really name in that moment, and keeps pushing Corvo until the last of him slips over the edge.

Corvo falls slack, more relaxed than even when he was still asleep. Samuel smiles against the sweaty tangle of his hair. He breathes in, trying to remind himself of what’s real, but it’s too cruel; they both have to go back soon, let them stay here for a while.

“You’re so good,” Samuel whispers. He’s surprised when Corvo turns around, like a snake that goes from lax sleep to action; the man straddles Samuel’s thighs, and the smile he gives in unrestrained, punching the breath out from Samuel’s lungs.

“Fuck,” Corvo breathes, diving into a kiss. Samuel answers, because he is still so hard he aches, and Corvo must feel that, pressing against his thigh. The man kisses him with such fire Samuel’s head spins, and that settles it; he won’t forget any of this. Somehow, against all the odds, he is tipping over, falling for Corvo, and right then it’s alright.

There is no time to react when Corvo shuffles down. He drags his lips greedily over every inch of skin he can reach, fingers splaying possessive-like over the jut of Samuel’s hip bones when he finds his mark. Corvo wastes no time, doesn’t hesitate at all as he sucks Samuel into his mouth, and Samuel slams a hand over his mouth to keep quiet.

It’s been such a long time, and even longer since someone he cared about did this to him. Samuel chokes on the words as Corvo sucks him, fingers pressing bruises into the soft flesh of Samuel’s thighs. Samuel pants and keens, hips bucking up, up, up into the heat, and even then Corvo just laughs with his eyes before closing them, so clearly enjoying what he’s doing it would bring tears to Samuel’s eyes if he had enough capacity to feel a tiny drop more than this.

His climax washes over him, and Corvo swallows down as Samuel spills inside his mouth, voice ragged and escaping despite him trying to keep silent. Corvo holds him as he shudders to the finish, and then Samuel hauls him back up to slump against himself. His chest heaves as he buries his face into Corvo’s neck, and for a long while they are just a tangle of spent limbs, sharing heat that slips and dissipates into the room around them.

Samuel breathes Corvo in as his heart slows down, and he is smiling.

“You’re the only one I trust,” Corvo whispers. Samuel opens his eyes, but he doesn’t dare to pull back. He watches the curve of Corvo’s shoulder, the too sharp contour of his collarbone, and how the evening sunlight layers colors on the dusky skin. There is a scar that sneaks down from the end of the collarbone, but it looks old.

“I don’t know if that’s stupid, but—” Corvo swallows with a dry click. “I need to trust someone.”

Samuel draws in a breath and then looks at Corvo. He leans on his elbow, and the assassin meets his eyes with unease and uncontrollable hope written all over him. Samuel runs his thumb down Corvo’s cheek, and searches for words.

_ This stopped being about the Loyalists some time ago, _ Samuel thinks. _ I discarded my allegiance for them, because it’s you who I want to believe in. You and young Lady Emily, not the men hungry for new positions of power, coloring their ambition with speeches of patriotism and honor. _

“I promise I won’t betray you.” 

Samuel knows it’s a terrible thing to say, for both of them, but what else can he do? His misbehaving heart went and opened up, took in Corvo Attano who will most likely bring only sadness to him, and now it refuses to let go. Samuel swallows and brushes a kiss to the corner of Corvo’s mouth, which is cracked open in surprise.

***

In the weeks and months that follow, Samuel entertains the thought of leaving. He keeps a keen eye on the city happenings as the Lord Protector Corvo Attano returns with Lady Emily Kaldwin, and together with the remaining loyal men and women they strip down the coup. Dunwall wakes up to see more and more restored, the prison walls practically groaning as corrupt and cruel people are locked away, and after a month there are finally good news.

Piero Joplin and Anton Sokolov are working on a cure for the plague, people whisper on the streets. Their work is going well, they say, with first glimmers of hope in their eyes.

Samuel watches as things change and settle again, and he knows that the only thing anyone can be sure of is that nothing is ever certain. He hopes that Lady Emily will have the support she undoubtedly needs. He hopes Corvo finds peace.

Sometimes Samuel sails out to the sea. He kills the engine and spends hours there, away from it all. He watches the stars and wonders about the future, and tries to quiet the heartache he tried to prepare for.

There are many things he could do differently. He knows he should have stood up to Havelock when the Admiral cornered him, eyes full of glee as he whispered that he _ knew, _ he knew what Samuel and Corvo were getting up to.

Samuel spins alternate paths inside his head, watches stars, and in the end he knows that the way things went is most likely the only way they could have reached even this happy an ending.

Tonight the waters are calm, and Samuel leans back on the bench as he watches the hazy moon. He closes his eyes and imagines whales, magnificent and unreal, in the unfathomable deeps of the ocean. He imagines he can still hear their song, as a note whistled into the night, or as a hum in bone, polished smooth with age.

He never took back his bone charm. Corvo tried to give it to him when he went to the Tower, but Samuel grasped his hands and shook his head. His chest was crumbling under the weight of the knowledge of what would happen should Corvo come back, but he hid that away. He kissed Corvo one last time, wished him luck in a voice that only broke a little, and knew there was a glass coated in poison waiting for the man back at the pub.

Samuel swallows and has to take a moment to breathe. The events make him ache, even now when he knows Corvo survived, found a way out of the Flooded District, _ forgave Samuel _and wished him the best.

Corvo tried to kiss him when they reached the Kingsparrow Island, but Samuel turned his head away. He couldn’t bear it, not when he could still see Corvo’s lifeless body floating down Wrenhaven on a raft, and Corvo looked like he maybe understood. Samuel didn’t stay to watch Corvo blink away, and after that day he has been waiting for something without knowing what it is.

Samuel feels the wind pick up, coming from the north, and with a sigh he sits up and cracks his neck. He knows he has to go back sooner or later. He still stays at the Hound Pits pub, in a real room now for the most part. He helps around, watches Cecelia’s back as life returns to the houses around them, and doesn’t know what he should do with himself.

Samuel misses Corvo. He misses the few short weeks they had together, stupid as it sounds, and he is unable to let go. In his dreams he hears whalesong that melts into familiar laughter, and then he jolts awake. After the vertigo passes, he doubles over and tries to fight against it, but there’s nothing to do. He misses Corvo something terrible.

The pub is quiet as he finally pulls up to the pier. It’s a weekday, and there are only a few patrons smoking in the yard. They greet as Samuel passes, and lets himself in. He peers into the bar, but Cecelia looks like she’s handling herself well. No one needs Samuel tonight, so he slinks into the stairway, feet heavy and mind troubled. 

He took the small room on the second floor. There’s just a bed and a dresser, and atop that sits the wooden boat Samuel carved for Lady Emily. He never got the chance to hand it to her, and he doubts he should; the young empress must be busy enough without ghosts from the past knocking on her doors. He said as much to Corvo when they parted, and the man didn’t answer.

Samuel sits down on the bed and tries to work up the energy to undress. He knows his longing is ridiculous, and that there is no other way things could or _should_ have gone, but his heart is stubborn; it took him twelve years to forget his first love, and this one has embedded itself even deeper. Too quick, like a false spring than turned into winter. Samuel watches his boots, and he knows he won’t go to the sea. He will stay, weather the days, and find some kind of a purpose. It’s what he has always done.

He is almost nodding, when something shifts. Samuel jolts awake and is on his feet right when there is a flash of black light outside the window. There is another rickety staircase outside of it, and a dark figure looms against the still darker sky.

Corvo isn’t wearing the mask. He opens the window and slips inside. Time stands still as he turns to watch Samuel, and in the distance a ship horn blows, just once.

Samuel doesn’t know what to do. He tried to tell Corvo it was alright if they never met again, just not in so many words. It was alright if Corvo found comfort in him during those horrible weeks, and it was also fine if that’s all it was—a warm body, gentle touches, and a hand that slipped him the poison.

Samuel wanted to tell Corvo he didn’t have to feel obliged to come back, because Samuel is many things but dependent isn’t one of them. He needs his freedom, he went to sea to reclaim it, and now he is tangled in the web of aching for a man again, and the more he thrashes the worse it gets. 

“Hi,” Corvo says, when the silence starts to verge on awkward. He pushes back the hood, and Samuel sees his hair is short now. It suits him, makes him look less like a brooding shadow. His cheeks have filled out, and he no longer looks like a good breeze will snap him in two.

His eyes have not changed much. There is just less of that hollow, gnawing worry there. Samuel knows it’s been exactly two months, two weeks, and four days since they last saw each other.

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to come back,” Corvo says. He keeps looking straight at Samuel, and blows out a breath. “But I didn’t want to leave things be. I wanted to apologize.”

Samuel notices he’s been holding his breath, because it comes out as a hoarse bark of laughter.

“Apologize? To me?” he asks. He tries to push against the knowledge that Corvo is standing only a few feet away, and how much his body wants to cross the floor and press close. It’s not his place to want anything from Corvo.

“I shouldn’t have left things between us like that,” Corvo says. Samuel opens his mouth. _Disbelief and shame._

“I poisoned you,” Samuel says, voice cracking and vanishing. He finally averts his gaze. “I dumped you on a raft.”

A few footsteps, and then Corvo is holding him, forcing his folded arms to open until they’re hugging, and Samuel wants to say he doesn’t hug back but he does; he’s missed this too much, and his throat threatens to close up altogether when Corvo doesn’t let him go. Samuel has missed Corvo so much, and he doesn’t have a place in his life anymore, but he can’t help hoping.

“You saved me,” Corvo murmurs. “You were there for me every step of the way. I’ve missed you, Sam.”

Samuel looks at him, and he is certain he heard wrong but then he sees that Corvo looks just as desperate as he does; it reminds him of the early morning on Kaldwin’s Bridge, when they kissed for the first time. Neither of them knew what to do, so they took a blind step towards something.

“I missed you too,” Samuel says. He doesn’t mean to, but he has carried the words inside his hollow chest all these months, and they become more true as time passes. The feelings refuse to fade, because hope doesn’t care about reason.

Corvo leans closer, and Samuel sees his own hope mirrored in that face. He turns his head away.

“There’s no place for me in your life,” Samuel says, or tries to, but Corvo’s hand is suddenly gripping his hair.

“Will you stop deciding that for me?” Corvo grimaces at his volume and loosens his grip. “I’ve spent the last months trying to decide whether to come back or not, because I missed you like crazy, and I didn’t know if you wanted to be left in peace. But I can’t _ sleep, _ and now that Emily is as safe as I can manage, all I can think about is what we had.”

He shrinks back immediately after saying it, as if expecting a rebuke, but Samuel’s ears are ringing. A watery smile breaks free, and he brings his hand to cup Corvo’s stubbly cheek. He tried to hold out, but now it’s too late all over again, and Samuel knows this is it for him, then.

“Of course I want you back.” It’s such a simple way of saying he has dreamed of Corvo, dreamed of being allowed to love him, in some capacity. Without fanfare, without bindings of the court; just the two of them.

Corvo finally smiles, and it transforms him just like it did in the past. Samuel spends a short second wondering how this became real, but then Corvo kisses him, and he forgets. 

***

There are no words to the relief. Corvo wakes up warm and content, in a bed that too narrow for them both, and he feels Samuel’s steady breathing against his neck. The man is still fast asleep, and Corvo floats in the disbelieving, happy haze for a long while.

He hesitated coming back, but eventually he knew that it was that or pine until his head gave in. It felt absurd to miss Samuel so much, after having only known him for a few weeks, and weirder still to want him back after all that happened, but he gave up trying to make sense of certain things some time ago. 

Going by the light it’s still fairly early, and Corvo knows he won’t be missed until the evening of the same day. He arranged time to— Well. To lick his wounds if it all went wrong, but the stubborn, hopeful part of his being was right for once. He can take a few hours here with Samuel, and they can have a talk to figure out how they want to go on.

Samuel shifts against his back, and Corvo smiles. The sailor mutters something in his sleep, and Corvo presses into the embrace. He still feels safe here.

The Heart tugs at him, almost lazily.

_ He has many scars. Some from the phlegm of the river krusts, some from the nameless monsters of the deeper ocean. _

_ I know, _ Corvo thinks as he slips into a comfortable doze. _ I’ve touched every one of them. _

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on twitter and tumblr with this same handle (@merulanoir), come say hello! <3


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